


Kids In The Dark

by Oldguybones



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Abuse, Aged up characters, F/M, Lots of Dark Subject Matter, M/M, Self-Harm, mention of an eating disorder, mention of sexual abuse, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-03-22 02:19:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13754217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oldguybones/pseuds/Oldguybones
Summary: “I'm just tired of being the same broken kid." “We're all broken, Richie.” Group Home AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new fic that I've started working on. I was hoping to get some feedback and see if this is something people would like to read. It deals with a lot of dark subject matter (see tags) so please proceed with caution. There are too many couple interactions to tag, so I just tagged the end game ones. But there are plenty of interactions among all of them. Let me know what you think!

**Sirens.**

All he heard was the roar of sirens in the distance getting closer and closer, but never _close enough_. Even when they were right outside his house they sounded as if they were miles away. Everything seemed far and distant, except the sound of his own labored breathing. Each breath rang loudly in his ears, seeming to be amplified against the cold bathroom tile.

**Red lights.**

All he saw was the flashing red lights illuminating the glass. From where his head laid against the bathroom floor, he could see straight through into the living room. With each heavy blink, he saw less and less. His vision was becoming so dangerously blurry, he couldn't see the ambulance and cop cars pull up out front, just the way the window lit red.

**Relief.**

All he felt was an immense amount of relief washing over him. The second the phone fell from his loose grip, he knew it was over. There was no going back at this point; he couldn't take back what he had done. Whatever happened beyond this moment, he didn't know and he didn't care. There was nothing left but relief at the rapidly approaching end.

 

No one in their right mind would ever want to spend a week in the hospital. They were cold and stuffy, death hung in the air like a clingy relative who didn't know when to leave. It was suffocating. But in his current state... **necessary.** And even at it's worst, it sure as hell beat where he'd come from. In the seven days he was there, trying his damn hardest to recover, all he could think about was where he was going. Over the course of his stay, he had been visited by countless adults he did not recognize, all joined by one shared objective.

“We're here to help you, Richie.”

He was extremely grateful for all those people. God knows he needed all the help he could get. What that help entailed, he had absolutely no clue. As his discharge day came around, he realized he was about to find out what it meant when some adult he didn't know said they wanted to help.

No one could put it past him, his complete and total lack of trust in adults. The two he trusted with his life almost ran it into the ground. They almost took it away from him. So when he was promised care and safety, skepticism rode right along with the relief he initially felt. A handful of other emotions were also riding in tandem.

The past week had left him feeling emotionally drained; he just wanted some sense of normalcy back in his life. Something told him his new normal was a far cry from his old normal. And maybe, just maybe, that was the best realization he had ever made.

 

**Nervous.**

That wasn't necessarily the right word to describe how he felt pulling up outside the house. Apprehensive. Uneasy. Unsure. He definitely wasn't sure what it was going to be like. Nothing like home at least.

He stepped out of the red sedan, driven by his case worker who insisted on walking him in and getting him all settled in. As big of a dweeb as it made him feel, he was appreciative of the fact. It was like the first day of school; being the new kid, all eyes on him. And while most viewed him as the class clown, that usually served as a barrier for his real feelings. _How cliché,_ he thought. _School_...that was another thought entirely.

As he walked up the steps of the porch, he noticed two individuals resting on the porch swing. One was a young boy around his age with chestnut brown hair and eyes to match. His skin had the slightest tan to it and, even laying down, Richie could tell he was small in stature. His back was flat against the swing, his head resting on the thigh of a redhead girl, who was combing her fingers through his hair. She was cute. But so was he. And he didn't miss the way both of their eyes raked over him, slowly looking him up and down. He barely had time to throw up a casual way before his case worker was dragging him inside.

Again, he wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting when they walked in, but he was still caught off guard. It looked like a **normal** home; it **felt** completely unlike home to him though. The atmosphere was warn and inviting. It was well decorated: pictures on the wall, rugs on the floor, pillows strewn across multiple couches. And they were greeted by a sweet, middle-aged woman. She was dressed in a pair of jeans, a sweater and a gentle smile. She had thick brown hair pulled into a messy bun and thick rimmed glasses, not unlike himself. She reminded Richie of every single adult he'd interacted with in the past week; she looked like someone he could trust. Someone he wanted to trust.

When she spoke, her voice was soft. It sounded so maternal, a tone unfamiliar to him.

“Hi, I'm Mrs. Hanscom,” she said, extending her hand to him, “You must be Richie.”

Richie nodded and shook her head. “Yup, that's me alright.”

“Feel free to take a look around,” Mrs. Hanscom told him, “Your room is upstairs, last door on the right.”

Richie grabbed his single bag and headed towards the stairs, pretending he couldn't hear the way the two adults immediately started discussing him. More specifically what he had gone through. It was always so _awesome_ to be reduced to his trauma. But in their defense, there were days where he felt defined solely by it. Today was such a day. Despite what he had already been there, **this** was incredibly hard to deal with.

He thought perhaps he would feel better once he was in **“his”** room. Now there was a reason for the emphasis on **his,** for when he opened the door he was meet with the sight of two other individuals. They were certainly enjoying the, or what they thought was the, privacy of the room. Richie's eyes went wide, jaw dropping at the sight of two boys, looking to be about his age. The one laying back on the bed was slender and pale, with dirty blonde curls. And the one hovering over him was more muscular, with dark skin and dark hair. He also had his hand shoved down the other boy's pants.

“Woah,” Richie chuckled under his breath, alerting the two of his presence, “Free board **and** a show?”

“Hey, do you mind?” the smaller boy underneath exclaimed.

“My apologizes gentlemen,” he said, complete with a bow and British accent. He tossed his bag inside the room and pulled the door shut. The view from the first room made him curious as to what might be occurring behind the other closed doors. He resisted the strong urge to throw them all open. Instead he just ran back downstairs to find his case worker about to leave. She walked over to him and enveloped him in a crushingly tight hug.

“You've got my number sweetie. If you need anything, I'm just a call away.”

Richie simply nodded because he wouldn't need to call her. Or at least he wouldn't **want** to. He was never **going** to. He now had a live-in adult, who pretended to care all too much. He was all set.

Mrs. Hanscom turned towards him with another all too sweet smile. “Get all settled in your room?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” he lied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought I'd take a look around.”

“Okay, let me know if you need anything.”

Richie frowned in confusion, “Wait, that's it? No personal tour? No thick rulebook?”

“There's plenty of rules,” she let out a laugh, followed by a casual shrug, “You're old enough. You'll learn.”

Richie too shrugged, at how ominous that felt. He made his way through the house, slowly and idly bounding through all the rooms. The living room was big and spacious, a couple couches, a few chairs and a TV. Looked typical enough. Same with the kitchen. Except it was clean. Exceptionally so. There were no dirty dishes in the sink and there was actually food in the fridge. So while the rest of the house felt like a home, the kitchen reminded him nothing of his.

There was a window over the sink, looking out into a big backyard. Sitting on the back deck was another boy around his age. He was on the heavier side, with shaggy light brown hair. He had a notebook situated on his lap, pencil slowly scribbling along the pages. On the far side of the yard, there was hammock, tied between two large trees. Sprawled out on it was another boy. He, too, had light brown hair but from where Richie stood he was much more lanky. His head was tilted up towards the sky and his mouth seemed to be moving. Was he talking to himself? Richie couldn't quite tell from inside.

He thought about heading back up to his room but he'd hate to interrupt again. Once was an accident, twice was just being a dick. Figuring it was a nice day, he decided to join the other boys outside. After all, they seemed to be the safest bet, over the couple making eyes at him out front and the couple getting it on upstairs. He knew he made the right decision when he was greeted with a genuine smile.

“Hi there. I'm Ben. You must be Richie.”

“Ahhh, my reputation proceeds me,” Richie said with a nod as he sat down next to him on the edge of the deck.

Ben chuckled and shut his notebook, placing it down beside him. “It's nice to meet you,” the second those words hit the air, Ben was shaking his head vehemently and quickly adding, “Actually it's **not.** It sucks that you have to be here.”

Richie just gave him a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow. After a few seconds, he broke and laughed it off. “Sure as hell beat where I came from.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why're you sorry?” Richie asked rhetorically, “Not your fault. Besides, you're here too which means you're fucked up too.”

“Well actually--”

“Hey Hanscom, you trying to hog the newbie?”

Richie turned to find the source of the voice to be the boy from the front porch. He had been correct about his stature; he was short and slim, but it seemed like he had the attitude to make up for it. This time it was Richie's turn to drag his eyes up and down him. A pair short red shorts hugged his thighs ever so slightly and the black band t-shirt he wore was a little too long.

“I'm not trying to do anything. We were just talking.”

“Wait, Hanscom?” Richie said slowly, breaking his attention away long enough to put two and two together.

Ben nodded, “That's right.”

“So you're not fucked up?” Richie asked bluntly.

“Ben here is the most normal person I've ever meet,” the other boy informed him, moving to stand beside them.

“Fuck you Eddie,” Ben retorted, his eyes rolling affectionately.

“Only if you ask nicely,” he chirped, hopping off the deck and sauntering over to the hammock. Richie watched as he climbed in beside the other boy, the two of them quickly settling into each other.

“What's his deal?”

“He'll let you fuck him,” Ben told him matter-of-factly, “If you ask him nicely.”

“Woah,” Richie snickered, “Between that and what I saw upstairs...I know teenage boys are all horny but damn!”

“Ohh, Stan and Mike,” a girl's voice sounded knowingly, “And hey, what about girls? Are we not allowed to be horny too?”

Richie turned around and smirked up at the girl he first saw on the porch. “No, please. By all means, go ahead!”

She chuckled, moving forward to sit down next to him and pulling out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, “I'm Bev.”

Ben groaned, looking her way disapprovingly, “My mom will kill you if she finds you smoking.”

“She hasn't yet,” Beverly replied smugly, tucking one between her lips.

Richie watched with fixed eyes as she lit it and took a long drag.

“I'm sorry. Where are my manners?” she exclaimed, holding the cigarette between two fingers and passing it over to him.

“Thanks,” Richie smiled, taking a long drag himself, exhaling it as he spoke, “So who's that?”

“Bill?” Beverly supplied, continuing when Richie nodded, “Well he's--”

“Bev, you know the rule,” Ben interjected, “The only story you can tell is your own.”

Beverly rolled her eyes, muttering, “Yeah, yeah. Until we're forced to talk about it in group.”

“Don't shoot the messenger,” Ben replied defensively, holding his hands up.

Bev smiled and reached up to ruffle his hair, “I would never,” she spoke honestly, her eyes locking with Ben's.

“Jesus!” Richie exclaimed, standing to clear some room for the two of them. “Is everyone around here fucking or what?”

Beverly shrugged casually, “I guess. Kinda, yeah.” She paused to take a drag, “It's complicated. When you all live together....we're all living with shit. Sometimes you just need a little help getting through it all.”

“So is that what's happening over there?” he asked, nodding over to the hammock, where Bill had his head buried in Eddie's neck while he ran his fingers soothingly over Bill's back. Richie noticed that Bill didn't seem to be talking to himself anymore.

Ben nodded, “Bill hasn't been doing so well lately.”

“Eddie's always the first to pick up on these things,” Beverly added, also watching the two, “And always the first to lend a hand.”

“Doesn't he have his own shit to deal with?” Richie wondered.

“Sure. We all do,” Beverly murmured softly.

“He has a lot of nightmares,” Ben told him knowingly, “So don't be surprised when he crawls into bed with you.”

“And that's a big **when.** Not if,” Beverly added, quickly and discreetly stomping out her cigarette as the sliding glass door opened.

Mrs. Hanscom popped her head out, “Why don't y'all come in and get washed up for lunch?”

“Yes, Ma,” Ben called, grabbing his notebook and heading inside.

Beverly stood as well, looking back at him, “If you ever wanna smoke anything stronger, just let me know,” she winked before following Ben inside.

Richie rose, but before he could turn to head inside, he noticed the smaller boy, Eddie, struggling to pull the talking-to-himself boy, Bill, to his feet, who did not seem to be cooperating in the slightest.

“You need some help?” he called out.

“No, I got it, thank you!” Eddie snapped, still struggling.

“Okay then,” Richie said dismissively as he headed inside. It was another couple minutes before they were joined by Eddie and Bill.

Eddie plopped him down in a chair with an exhausted sigh. Richie found his gaze following him as he moved around the kitchen. First he grabbed an orange pill bottle from a cabinet and then he filled a glass with water from fridge. Bill seemed to know what was coming next as he began shifting uncomfortably and squeezing his lips shut.

“C'mon Bill,” Eddie whispered softly, brushing back Bill's hair. Richie found it odd that no one else seemed to pay this any attention. Was it really that frequent of an occurrence?

“Don't make this hard on yourself,” he murmured, grabbing Bill's chin and guiding his mouth to open. He popped the pill into his mouth and cupped his chin as he poured in a drink of water. He forced Bill to shut his mouth, though it was nothing if not gentle.

Richie couldn't draw his eyes away from the two as Bill eventually swallowed.

“Good job,” Eddie murmured gently, leaning down to kiss the other boy's forehead.

Richie felt so confused; how could someone so small, yet with such a big attitude be so compassionate? In his experience, those traits rarely went hand in hand. These thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the two boys from upstairs, Stan and Mike. He smirked at just how satisfied they looked. His smug expression quickly vanished when Stan sat down next to him. The long sleeves he wore rode up just slightly, but they fully revealed numerous scars running along his wrists, varying in length and thickness. If Stan noticed him noticing, he didn't let it show as he casually tugged his sleeves back into place.

Everywhere he had gone, everywhere he had been, he was always the **problem.** He was at school, not not paying attention and distracting the other students. He was at home for being obnoxious and being a burden. And with himself, for never being good enough. As messed up as he felt for thinking such a thing, Richie couldn't help but feel relief. It was nice to not be the only one with problems.

 

“Beverly, dear, I believe it's your turn to do the dishes,” Mrs Hanscom called from the kitchen.

“Roger that Mrs. H!” she exclaimed, hopping up from her place at the table. She walked around the table, collecting all the dishes before carrying them all to the sink.

“What're Richie's chores for today?” Stan asked, resembling **that kid** who asked for homework after the bell had already rung.

Mrs. Hanscom chuckled, “I thought I would give him a couple days to adjust first.”

“Thanks,” Richie said softly, throwing a pointed look in Stan's direction. “I think I'm gonna go up to my room and **adjust**.”

 

Night fell quickly upon the household. Then again, when there was a 10pm lights out curfew, night fell a lot sooner than in his past experiences. Nights were always the hardest part, having to lay in bed, struggling with the pain rippling through his body.

Richie thought it would be an easy night. Sure, being in a new place made him feel more than a little anxious, but for the first time in **years,** he felt okay. The same worries were no longer eating him alive and the same could be said for his body too. That's why Richie thought the second his head hit the pillow, he would pass out. That was not the case. It was probably due to all the agonizingly long nights he'd previously endured. His body refused to believe this new reality. Richie himself could hardly believe it.

**2:07am.**

He heard the door creak open slowly and the soft shuffle of feet dragging along the floor. He watched as Eddie crossed to the far side of the room. Somehow, through the dark room which was only slightly lit by the moon outside, he looked even smaller. Maybe it was the large t-shirt he wore that hung down right above his knees. Or maybe it was the intense vulnerable expression he wore. His eyes looked red and wet, glistening in the low light.

Richie kept his head pressed to his pillow, eyes fixed on the smaller boy. He wordlessly pulled back the covers, which caused Mike to stir softly. There were also no words on his part as he scooted over, holding open his arm to Eddie, who climbed into bed beside him. Mike wrapped his arm around Eddie's shoulders, pulling him up against his side. Eddie immediately snuggled up against him, his head finding the crook between his neck and shoulder. Mike placed a kiss to his hair and pulled the covers over both of them. Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.

Richie felt a pang of jealousy rumble in his chest. Was this due to the fact that he was chasing sleep so desperately and they caught it so easily? Or was it the raw intimacy which he craved just as desperately? He would spend another couple hours with this thought swirling around in his mind before eventually falling into a restless slumber, which lasted mere hours.

Richie was beginning to think perhaps escape did not equal recovery. Perhaps the hardest part was yet to come.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, here we go. This chapter has a few specific tags that I wanted to include to be safe. Vomiting (Not super graphic) and panic attacks. I also wanted to include that I have never experienced a panic attack, but I did some research so hopefully it's okay. As always, feedback is lovely and keeps me going :) Thanks for reading!

_Never in his life had Richie felt such a deep burning in his lungs. His feet were carrying him, kept carrying him on and on when his mind wanted to give up on him. He had to keep going. He kept telling himself, trying to remind himself what he was running from and what he was running to._

_He ducked behind a large tree, his back pressing against the rough bark as his chest heaved dramatically. Struggling to catch his breath, he peeked out from behind the tree and noticed the cop car slowly driving down the adjacent street._

_**Fuck.** _

_In a few seconds, he would be in plain view. Another minute or so and he would be caught. It'd all be over. He took one final gulp of breath before pushing off the tree and cutting across the park. The roar of the sirens sounded behind him and brought an intense motivation to his legs; his strides were large, bounding down the rural street._

_**So close. So fucking close.** _

_His house was now in his view and he was traveling so incredibly fast, faster than he had ever ran before. It wasn't until now that he had something to run to. His knuckles were turning white from their grip on the straps of his backpack as he flung open the door to his house, quickly slamming it shut behind him. He pulled back the curtains slightly, peeking out to see the cop car driving slowly past._

_He let out a sigh of relief as he shrugged off his backpack, falling against the door and sliding down to the ground. His head hung in his hands for a couple minutes as he slowly regained his ability to breathe normally. But it was too quiet and suddenly he could feel his breath leaving him once again. His eyes quickly went blurry with tears at the sight before him. His stomach dropped, his heart ached in his chest. **No. No. No, this can't be happening.**_

The obnoxious buzz of an alarm clock cut through the otherwise silent morning air. Richie woke to the god awful noise but refused to open his eyes. If he did, he would inevitably look over at his own clock and he was not ready to know what time it was. No way. He _just_ fallen asleep. There was no way it was late enough, whatever the hour was, to complete his needed amount of sleep.

From beneath the pillow he'd slammed against the side of his head, he heard the glorious sound of the alarm turning off, followed by soft chattering and shifting around. After a couple minutes of moderate silence, he tossed the pillow to the side, begrudgingly accepting his awakened state. While he struggled with falling asleep initially, returning to slumber once woken normally came easy to him. Richie supposed if something was to break, better make it 100% broken. Otherwise, what was the point? No one wanted to fix half-broken.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached, somewhat blindly, for the glasses he had resting on his nightstand. As he did, he could see Eddie's silhouette trudge into his view and before he knew it, a pair of small hands were placing his glasses on his face for him. They made sure they were fully resting on his ears, soft fingertips brushing against the shell of his ears.

Richie experienced a sudden warm feeling in his chest at the gentle moment but it was fleeting as he looked up at Eddie.

“You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Richie replied sarcastically, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He had no doubt it was a correct statement. He **felt** like shit. A thin layer of sweat was causing his hair to stick against his forehead. He was sure he had dark circles under his eyes from his lack of sleep and from the quality of what little sleep he did get. To no fault of his own, unfortunately, he could no control where his mind wanted to take him. And since it was still fresh, his mind didn't stray too far from that day.

“C'mon, I'll make some coffee,” Eddie said lightly, a tone resembling a strong sense of empathy. Then again, Ben said Eddie frequently had nightmares himself. A morbid curiosity made him yearn for answers as to what troubled the smaller boy. But Richie could barely handle his own.

A few minutes later, Richie joined the two of them downstairs, where Eddie was finishing up a pot of coffee. Standing in the doorway, he watched Eddie stand on his tiptoes, struggling to wrap his fingers around the handle of a mug. Mike saw this effort and smiled affectionately, walking over to grab it down for him, as well as the other two he pointed at. Richie found himself smiling as well.

He watched intently as Eddie poured coffee into a tall mug, silently adding a small amount of cream and sugar. He screwed on the lid and handed it to Mike, who leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks Eddie,” he said with a grateful smile, taking the brown bag that Eddie had retrieved from the fridge.

“No problem. Have a good day at work.” Eddie turned towards Richie, in a way that said he was completely unaware of Richie's lingering gaze. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Uhhh, just a bit of cream,” he answered, smiling when Eddie handed him a bright red mug. The feel of Eddie's fingers brushing against his own sent a spark of electricity through his body. They lingered for more than a few seconds and, as he looked down, he was met with a pair of warm brown eyes.

“Don't drop it. This is my **favorite** mug.”

Richie chuckled. The sheer rage behind this threat surprised him. At first he thought it was a joke but Eddie's gaze remained unwavering. How on Earth could someone so cute be so aggressive?

Richie turned his smile into a stern frown. He nodded with a mock seriousness. “Aye, aye Captain!”

Eddie held his glare for a few seconds longer before finally breaking it with a soft little laugh. “There's some cereal here if you're hungry,” he called, pouring himself a bowl.

“I'm good,” Richie murmured, sitting down at the table with his coffee. The thought of food right then repulsed him. He knew he probably should eat, a little something at least. But it made his stomach churn just thinking about it.

“If you insist,” Eddie replied through a mouthful of cheerios as he joined Richie at the table.

Richie watched him shovel spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. He wasn't sure which he was more fixated on, the food or the other boy's lips. He got his answer when a drop of milk escaped the corner of his mouth. His breath hitched in his throat as Eddie gathered it up on his thumb and licked it off.

“What?” Eddie chuckled, finally noticing his intense stare.

Richie was about to choke out some nonsensical answer when a thud sounded from upstairs, followed by a loud shout. The sound barely faded before Eddie was shooting out of his chair and running upstairs. Richie found himself running after him, motivated almost entirely by curiosity. When they got upstairs to the room with all the commotion, they found Stan and Beverly in the bathroom. The shower curtain was drawn back and Beverly had one foot in the tub, holding a cup to the shower all.

“What the fuck?” Eddie whined, letting out a heavy breath.

“Stan here got scared of a little spider,” Beverly answered in a mockingly baby voice. She slid a piece of paper between the cup and wall, slowly pulling it away.

Stan shot her a glare, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “There is nothing little about it.”

Eddie sighed, running his fingers through his hair and Richie swore he saw them tremble slightly. “Next time, can you not?”

“Sorry Eds,” Stan apologized gingerly, offering an understanding smile.

Upon seeing this, Richie wasn't exactly sure what it all meant. But he had a feeling. The way Eddie's hands shook, the apologetic smile that clearly told a story. He just didn't have the narrative worked out quite yet.

“What's going on in here?” Mrs. Hanscom asked, peeking her head in.

Beverly simply held up the clear cup, that did in fact hold a large spider, in response before carrying it out.

She chuckled quietly, “Okay, everyone. Get ready for school. You too, Richie.”

Richie turned to her with a frown, “What about giving me some time to adjust?”

“Well it was get you registered this week or wait until next semester.”

“Okay, yeah. Lets do the second one,” Richie retorted, nodding eagerly.

“Nice try,” she quipped, patting his shoulder. “The bus will be here in half an hour. I got you all set up. Just check in with the main office and they'll give you your schedule. There's a backpack on your bed that has everything you need.”

“Except the will to go,” he grumbled as she left.

Eddie snorted, having heard this. “It'll be great!” He exclaimed, feigning the excitement behind his words, though Richie could tell they were strongly laced with sarcasm.

_Fucking fantastic._

–

Richie thought he had been out of school long enough to forget how truly awful it was. He was reminded almost immediately after boarding the bus. He was no stranger; he rode the bus for the entirety of his school career. Without it, he never would've made it to school. His best practice had always been to take the first available seat. But that flew out the window when Eddie's hand pressed against the small of his back, urging him further down the aisle than he'd planned to go.

“Here,” he pointed out, gesturing to three empty seats, two on the left and one on the right.

Eddie sat down on the seat to the right and Richie fully intended to sit beside him when a soft voice drew his attention to the left.

“C'mere Richie.”

A soft smile graced his lips as Beverly reached out to grab his hand and pull him down into the seat next to her. They were to the left of where Bill had joined Eddie. In the seat behind them was a couple of guys who, to Richie, looked like total **dicks.**

He was right.

The second the wheels started turning, one of them was leaning over, roughly clasping his hand down on Bill's shoulder.

“Hey Bill,” he stuttered mockingly. “How's Georgie?”

Eddie spun around and shot him a death glare. While he wasn't the target, Richie still felt a chill run down his spine. “Fuck off Bowers,” he growled, shoving angrily at the hand gripping his friend's shoulder.

Richie was familiar with this Henry character. Sure, he didn't know him personally but every school had a Henry. Usually a handful of them, which explained the other three boys backing him up. One of who was sitting in the seat behind himself and Beverly.

“Hey! Who's the new freak?”

“Leave him alone Patrick,” she said with a firm sigh, not even turning around in her seat, thus refusing to give him the pleasure of her attention.

“Aw, you gonna fuck him too? Like you did all of us.”

“Maybe.” This answer surprised Richie and, as she continued, he was sure his wide eyes turned into a major case of heart eyes. “I'm sure his dick's bigger than your little 3 inch pecker.”

“Nice,” he chuckled, giving Beverly a high five as the bullies settled back into their seats, grumbling irritatedly.

Beverly shrugged dismissively, “Figure if it's already a rumor might as well tell it the way I want.”

The two of them rested their heads on the seat, facing each other as they chatted the rest of the bus ride away. Without a doubt, Beverly was the coolest girl he had ever met.

-

The next time he saw any of them was lunch, which flooded him with a mix of emotions. On one hand, how amazing was it to see even just one familiar face, let alone five. But on the other hand, it was lunch and while the ever present ache in his stomach indicated he was indeed hungry, extremely so, the thought of eating petrified him. And in a cafeteria full of potentially wandering eyes nonetheless. The way his hands trembled showcased how much anxiety was building in his chest. At that point, where he was currently, where he could hardly choke out a breath, the best solution he could muster up was to skip lunch all together. The brown paper bag mocked him every time he opened his backpack. Maybe he would just wander aimlessly for the whole period. He could find a trashcan and toss the brown bag, of which the contents were implied but unknown. He couldn't bring himself to look.

When the lunch bell rang, this was solidified in his mind as his plan. But you know what they say about best laid plans?

“Hey Richie!”

He heard this call as kids flooded into the hallway. He spun around, his eyes darting in each direction to try and find the source. After an initial sweep with no success, he contemplated just walking away. He had a plan after all. But right before he could, he noticed Ben shuffling through the sea of people around him.

“C'mon, we're all heading to lunch.”

He sighed internally, his plan _foiled._ On the outside, all he could manage was an unenthusiastic, “Okay.”

“How're you liking it so far?”

“Aye, it's just a wee bit o' fun,” Richie replied, his voice thick with an Irish accent and sarcasm.

“Sorry,” Ben said sheepishly, “Stupid question.”

A slight guilt resonated with him. Ben seemed like a genuinely nice person and was probably _honestly_ interested in hearing about his day. So he decided to throw him a bone with a casual, “It's okay.”

“Being the new kid sucks,” Ben said knowingly as they walked down the hallway and towards the cafeteria.

“Right?” Richie exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air, “Do teachers actually think we want to be introduced in front of the whole class? Do they think anyone actually cares?”

Ben let out a hearty laugh, nodding in agreement. “I know what you mean. I moved here freshmen year. It was awful.”

“I bet,” Richie murmured in response as Ben led them out to the courtyard. There was a few picnic tables in the middle, enclosed by a half wall with a thick ledge. Richie took it upon himself to hop up there, giving Ben the last seat on the bench next to Beverly. It only seemed fair since he did not intend on eating. Eddie, however, presumed differently. Because after a few minutes had passed, he was giving Richie a puzzled frown, “Why aren't you eating?”

He shrugged his shoulders and almost shocked himself at how easily he lied through his teeth, “Not hungry.”

 _Lie._ He was so extremely, _painfully_ hungry. Although saying he had never felt such a strong hunger before would also be a lie. There were a handful of times where he lasted longer, where he felt so much worse.

“You really should eat something,” Eddie insisted, “You haven't eaten all day and you don't look so hot.”

“Yeah, and I spent time packing all these lunches last night,” Stan informed him, earning himself a soft glare from Eddie, who was sitting beside him. The intensity nowhere near compared to the one he gave Henry this morning, but it seemed to do the trick.

A weird emotion washed him and, in all honesty, Richie didn't know what to do with it. Perhaps he was simply reading too much into it. But the way Eddie's eyes stayed glue to him, just **waiting**...Did he actually care? Was that the strange, foreign feeling warming his chest?

Richie began to feel his hands shake once again as he pulled the brown paper bag out of his backpack. All he could hope for was that no one noticed. The warmth in his chest returned at how Eddie smiled in accomplishment when he took a bite of his sandwich. It was hard, after that first bite, to stop. His brain was telling his stomach not to be hungry anymore but, bite after bite, he ignored the message. It wasn't long at all before he was finishing his lunch, having bypassed a few of them who began eating long before him.

He spent the remainder of lunch silently watching everyone else finish and chat all the while. Guilt and regret were creeping into his mind. The more attention he paid to the feeling of being full, the closer these emotions got. But oh so lucky for him, next period found him in a crowded locker room full of over hormonal guys making crude jokes and swapping, aptly named, locker room stories. There was a wide range of confidence levels in the boys locker room. Some of them were completely free, almost **too** open about how they changed. Others were more private about it, quickly changing in the corner.

Beverly was certainly right earlier on the bus; Richie felt he had nothing to hide in **that** department but other areas he didn't necessarily care to show off. Slowly but surely, the locker room emptied, leaving only a few behind. Richie being one of them. He had watched Stan and Eddie file out of the locker room, Stan in a long sleeve top and Eddie in a sweatshirt. Finally Richie felt comfortable enough to change into his gray, gym-branded t-shirt.

Nausea was already starting to pool in his stomach. Whoever thought having gym directly after lunch was a good idea clearly never ran a mile on a full stomach. Such was Richie's current predicament. They were doing lap after lap around the football field, their coach yelling rude “encouragements” at them from the sidelines.

“Hey new kid! Keep it moving!”

Richie's gut response was to raise his middle finger, but he figured getting in trouble on his first day probably wouldn't be the best course of action. Bent over at the waist, he struggled to catch his breath and to not throw up everything he had scarfed down during lunch.

Richie could feel the tears burning the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill. His lungs were struggling for air and it made his chest heave in a painfully familiar way. A flash of _her_ entered his mind, leaving as quickly as it came. Mere seconds in his mind forced his body to react, violently. Before he could even register what had just happened, he was staring down at the entire contents of his stomach, sprawled across the fake grass of the football field.

From all directions, he could hear sounds of disgust mixed with laughter. His skin was hot, partially from embarrassment but primarily from the ache in his chest. It wasn't the vomiting that caused this pain. Her. _Them_.

He couldn't bring himself back to reality, tortured by memory after memory. Happiness and laughter cutting away to pain and loss. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his back did he snap back, mindlessly shoving the hand away.

“Okay,” he heard Eddie's voice say simply, turning to see him with his hands held up on front of him, making it clear he was no longer initiating contact. Richie appreciated the space he was given.

“I'll take you to the nurse's office.”

–

The walk to the nurse's office felt like pure agony. Out of the three trash cans they passed out, Richie puked in two of them. His throat burned from the bile still residing there, but also due to the fact that he had a witness. Richie was unsure what it looked like on the surface but inside, he felt like he was going crazy. The trembling he experienced earlier was now no longer isolated to his hands; he felt it all throughout his arms and legs. He could feel beads of sweat slowly trickle down his temples, joining the now dried tears staining his cheeks. Despite finishing barely two laps, he couldn't catch his breath. He found himself completely unable to breathe which, in turn, made him try harder and harder until his chest was rapidly heaving with the effort to bring even a single breath of air into his lungs.

Eddie treaded a few paces ahead of him but quickly spun around at the sound of his back hitting the lockers, hard. He rushed over as Richie slid to the ground. His elbows rested on his drawn up knees, his fingers tightly gripping his hair.

“Hey.” He vaguely heard Eddie say but his voice was too soft, sounded too far away despite having dropped to his knees beside him. The only sound ringing clear in his ears being the short, quick breaths he was struggling to take. His head was fuzzy and he found it impossible to ground himself in that moment.

“Hey Richie.”

There was an odd sensation washing over him, one had had experienced only once before. It felt like he wasn't in his own body; he definitely felt a lack of control in his current state. This, whatever it was, had all happened one other time and when it started, it only took a few minutes before he was passed out on the bathroom floor.

In the back of his mind, he could sort of register Eddie taking both of his hands into his own, but he couldn't bring himself back enough to actually **feel** it.

“Richie!” Eddie's voice rang louder this time, taking on more of a firm tone. He could tell the other boy wasn't yelling, just trying to get through to him. The dizziness was quickly intensifying and Richie could tell it was mere seconds away from consuming him entirely. He felt both of his hands being squeezed with a pressure that did not let up.

Eddie's anchored voice spoke to him, “Richie.” His grip left his hands and connected back on either of his cheeks, forcing his gaze up. “You're having a panic attack.”

He could hear Eddie fairly clear now and looking up into his soft brown eyes gave Richie something real to ground himself. For a split second, he finally had the chance to recall what had caused this. It was the same as the last time. The thought brought back the inability to breathe and worsened the tremors racking his thin frame.

Eddie's voice still sounded firm and yet, it was clear he was failing to keep it unwavering, “You're having a panic attack,” he said again, trying to keep his tone calm and reassuring, “But **you** are in control Richie.”

Those words deeply resonated with him; although it just wasn't quite enough to ease the tension. Thank god Eddie kept talking to him.

“You're going to be okay. I know it feels like your heart's gonna burst out of your chest but it's not. I promise. But you need to take deeper breaths.”

_Easier said than done._

“Try this. Breathe in for two seconds and breathe out for two seconds. Like this,” Eddie instructed, bringing one of Richie's hands up to rest on his chest.

Richie let his eyes slip shut and his head fall back to rest against the cool metal of the lockers. He did his best to focus on the steady pace of Eddie's chest rising and falling. A good few minutes passed before he was able to mimic his breathing.

“Good job,” Eddie praised gently, his hand still resting over the one Richie had on his chest, “Now try four seconds.”

Now that he no longer felt passing out was imminent, he caught himself counting the seconds Eddie's chest would expand, his own a carbon copy. Another few minutes went by and the shakiness was slowly starting to fade.

“That's it. Control your breathing. You are in control. Try six seconds now.”

And he did. It was the longest interval of whatever exercise Eddie had just walked him through, seeming to last twice as long. By the end, his body began to relax and he regained his full consciousness, at least enough to realize Eddie just spent damn near twenty minutes talking him down from one of his lowest moments. In the absence of all the other intense emotions that had nearly drowned him, he was left with a crushing sense of vulnerability. He knew, in that moment, he could act on his first impulse and immediately push Eddie away, both physically and emotionally. But somehow, Eddie made it easy not to.

He simply sat down next to Richie, settling his own back against the lockers. There were no words exchanged between them for a while, the only sound being Richie's now steady breathing. While the trembling had faded away, his limbs still felt weak, leaving him very weary about his ability to walk just yet. Part of him wanted to say something, _anything._ He wished his mind would feed him the words to thank Eddie for helping him out but, in his current state, that didn't seem too likely. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and tried to bring the corners of his lips up in the best smile he could manage.

It seemed to be enough as Eddie patted his thigh, offering his own gentle smile. “Ready?”

The smaller boy rose to his feet and, once again, grabbed both of Richie's hands, helping him stand as well. While he let go of one hand, Eddie held on tightly to the other, lacing their fingers together.

“The nurse's office is just around the corner.”

Richie gingerly shook his head, “I don't think I need to go anymore. I feel okay.”

“Yeah...” Eddie said slowly with a sheepish grin, “But if we still go, we'll get to ditch the rest of gym.”

“Wow,” Richie whispered in response, feeling his eyes light up with admiration for the second time that day. “Beauty **and** brains.”

Eddie laughed quietly, giving his hand a gentle tug. He was a few paces ahead now, his arm reaching behind him to keep their fingers intertwined.

For the first time, in what felt like a lifetime, Richie experienced a moment of peace. It almost felt like happiness. Somehow Richie knew it wouldn't last and he had a sinking suspicion that he wouldn't let it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of panic attacks, self-harm, suicide and brief mentions of sexual abuse. Please proceed with caution. Thanks for reading!

A month had passed since Richie experienced the worst feeling, possibly in the entire world, for the second time. In that school hallway, the lack of control reduced him down to the lowest he had ever felt. He thought, after the first night it all happened, things would only get better. Because the worst had already happened so there was no way things could decline any further. But when he heard Eddie's voice echo in his ears.... _”You're having a panic attack,”_ he realized, in fact, things could and apparently would get worse.

And that's exactly what happened. Over the course of the month he had been there, at least twice a week he suffered through these attacks. Painfully unable to breathe, his heart beating out of his chest, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. The first time he went through it, knowing full well what **it** was, he had Eddie working him through it. Every time after that, he went out of his way to ensure complete and total privacy during these times. As grateful as he was to Eddie, he couldn't risk the raw vulnerability it forced him to feel. So instead, he suffered in solitude, just the way he preferred it.

However, there was a distinct disadvantage to bearing it alone. Breathing through it was a lot harder when there wasn't someone guiding you through the threat was hyperventilating. And because of the isolation, it felt so much worse and lasted so much longer. If he could help it, when he felt the anxiety building in his chest, he shut himself in the bathroom and turned off the light, as it's shine was too bright and made his head **throb.** He pressed his back against the cold ceramic of the bathtub and his balled up fists to his thighs.

As hard as he tried, he could not hold back the feeling of total loss of control that was creeping up on him. It washed over him and suddenly, he felt out of his mind. Literally, as if his brain completely left his body and there was no connect between the two. In these moments, he couldn't register the way his nails dug into his palms. After he came back to it, often times, he would have marks bore into his skin and, on one occasion, there had been blood.

Richie always felt like absolute shit afterward. When he was alone, he didn't feel vulnerable the same way he did when Eddie had witnessed it. But what he did feel was feel was everything, yet nothing simultaneously. It left him emotionally drained, like he had nothing left to feel. Possibly the worst part was in the unpredictability of it all. Unfortunately, he couldn't choose when they hit and thus nor where they hit either. The most current one found him in the darkness of his shared bathroom in the middle of a Saturday. The only gratitude he felt was in the fact that he had been totally uninterrupted until now.

A loud, pounding knock hit the door, three times in quick succession. “Richie?” He heard Ben's voice from behind the door. “Group's about to start and I was sent to come get you.”

Richie could hardly trust his voice to make a sound,but he did his best not to sound as broken as he felt, “I'll be down in a minute.”

When he finally made his way down to the living room, everyone was already situated. All eyes were on him as he took the last empty chair in the circle. His main emotion, then, was worry. He was crippled by the fear that everyone could see right through him. He was convinced all they saw was his red, puffy eyes and a complete lack of hope. He tipped his head down, refusing to meet anyone's gaze, which proved difficult since they were all arranged in a circle so that everybody could see everybody.

“Okay, now that everyone's here, we can begin,” Mrs. Hanscom said gently, “Who would like to go first? Do we have any volunteers?”

Silence.

“Richie, why don't you start us off?”

“Pass,” he mumbled, shaking his head. After what he just went through, the last thing he wanted to do was bear all his most private thoughts and feelings to seven people he'd only known a month. Sure, they had been living under the same roof all that time and had already participated in a few of these sessions. But by all means, they were still strangers to him.

“You've been here a month now Richie and you haven't shared anything.”

“And that's the way I plan to keep it,” Richie insisted firmly, still not looking up from where he was seated.

Mrs. Hanscom sighed but kept her tone gentle, “Bottling your emotions up like that isn't healthy.” When she was met with nothing but a dismissive shrug, she moved on. “Okay...how about you Stan?”

 

Stan looked up from his place on the couch, where he had his feet tucked under him and a pillow resting in his lap. “It was a good week I guess,” he began quietly, fingers idly pulling at a loose thread on the pillow. His eyes were cast down, unwavering as he stared at the ground. “I realize that on Wednesday, it'll be two years since I...” his voice caught in his throat, “Two years since I tried to kill myself.”

Eddie reached over and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, the rest of the group muttering words of encouragement and approval.

“That's some great progress Stan. How does that make you feel?”

His voice shook slightly as he continued, “I don't know. I want to feel happy....proud of myself. I really want to be proud of how far I've come. But I can't,” he ended with a whisper. Richie felt a pit of guilt in his stomach; Stan was only chosen after he refused to go. This was only made worse by the tears welling up in the other boy's eyes.

“It's like...every time I think about it, all I can think about is my father,” he could barely choke out the last word. “His words when he saw me in the hospital. What will the church think? How could you do something so stupid? Too bad you couldn't even do this right.”

Richie noticed the way Mike tensed up, his hands clenched tightly in anger. He also saw the way Eddie stroked his thumb over the back of Stan's hand. Stan's eyes slipped shut, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“The week I spend in the hospital...that was the only time I saw him and all I thought about the whole time was going home,” he bit his lip to hold back a sob, “And 'doing it right this time'.”

“But you're still here Stan,” Mrs. Hanscom reminded him, “And we're all so proud of your progress.”

Stan offered a small smile as he wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Thank you for sharing. Does anyone else have anything they'd like to share?”

“It feels weird to say this,” All attention turned to Eddie now. “But I feel...lucky. And honestly kinda guilty. My dad was always there for me.”

“That's nothing something you should feel guilty for Eddie,” Beverly assured him, “We all got dealt a shit hand. Some of us have shitty fathers, you have a shitty mom. And lucky Bill here, he's got one of each!”

Everyone, including Bill, chuckled knowingly at her words. Richie could relate as well.

“Yeah, don't feel guilty!” he chimed in, voice obviously speaking of a shared experience, “If you had it good, at any point, you should cling to that.” For the first time since joining everyone, Richie met someone's gaze. Eddie's. Intense. Unwavering. Knowing.

“But you don't want to live in the past. You cannot move forward if you--”

“I can't move forward if I don't!” Richie exclaimed, standing from his chair. “Sometimes all you can do is cling to a time when things weren't total and utter **shit!”**

With that he walked towards the stairs, steps heavy with purpose. To leave was his only purpose in that moment; he needed to be anywhere but there.

“Richie, we're not done yet,” Mrs. Hanscom called after him.

“Well I am.”

 

“ _Because I don't want to wake up to some fucking creep in my room again!”_

 

_Richie sat on his bed, back against the wall. His guitar sat on his lap while his fingers idly plucked the strings, playing nothing in particular but he reveled in the pointless melodic sounds which echoed throughout the room. It wasn't enough, though, to drown out whatever was happening outside his four walls. A mix of curiosity and frustration brought him into the living room where he found his mom, sister and some guy he'd never seen before. **Great.** It finally clicked to him what they were fighting about._

“ _I think you're being a little dramatic Sydney,” their mom replied, painfully condescending._

“ _Considering the last one of your sleazy boyfriends thought it was okay to sneak into my room after you'd fallen asleep--”_

“ _You don't know what you're talking about!” the older woman yelled, her hands trembling as she pulled a cigarette from the carton she held. Her frame was skinny, unhealthily so, barely a shell of the woman she was even just months ago._

“ _Really mom? Was I being ' **a little dramatic** ' when I woke up to his hand down my pants?” she demanded, taking a step closer to where the older woman stood. “What about the one that grabbed my ass mom? Was I just being dramatic then too?”_

_Richie could feel the anger rising in his chest; he could see the tears in his sister's eyes and the pain evident in her voice. He would do anything to be able to take that away from her._

_The man standing beside their mother, who looked just as sickly as she did, put his hand out in front of them, weakly pushing the younger girl back._

_The second this man, presumably their mother's new sleazy boyfriend, put his hand on his sister, Richie snapped. His fight response was triggered and he marched right over to him, drawing his fist back and letting it fly forward. The hit landed square on his jaw, causing the man to stagger back. The second hit cracked against the man's nose. He rose his hand to his face, fingers pressed underneath his nose where blood was already starting to trickle out._

“ _You little shit,” he growled, throwing his own punch. Richie fell to the ground at the impact of the blow. Frozen in shock, he stared up at the two adults in the room, one of who was about to throw another punch and the other one wasn't doing a damn thing. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the hit that never came._

_When he opened his eyes again, he saw his sister standing above him, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. Richie rose to his feet and grabbed her hand, tugging them back towards the bathroom. He didn't bother looking over his shoulder for a reaction; he didn't care. He just wanted to get them somewhere they could be relatively safe until the two disappeared to score. Being the only room with a lock in their apartment, the bathroom was their only option._

“ _Sydney,” he whispered as she locked the door behind them._

“ _It's fine Rich,” she returned, obviously mustering up a half smile. She sat down beside him on the edge of the bathtub, her hand reaching out to grab his._

“ _No it's not,” he murmured, shaking his head and squeezing her hand. “You don't deserve that.”_

“ _ **We** don't deserve any of this,” she corrected him. She rested her head on his shoulder while he stroked his thumb across her wrist. A pained look adorned his face. _

“ _You said you weren't going to do this anymore.”_

“ _I'm sorry Richie,” she replied, too ashamed to meet his concerned gaze. The kiss he pressed to her hair forced more tears to spill down her cheeks. “I don't think that's a promise I can keep.”_

_Richie thought about his own promise, one he made every time they found themselves in situations such as their current one. For him, it wasn't a matter of whether or not he would keep it. There was no other option. He would make this promise a hundred times and someday, he would be a man of his word._

“ _We're gonna be okay,” he reassured her, holding her close against his side. “Someday, we're gonna get out of here. I promise.”_

 

**Knock. Knock.**

Richie jolted out of his thoughts and looked over at the doorway, where Eddie was standing and peeking his head inside. He expected someone to come get him shortly after he stormed off, but that wasn't the case. It must've been a couple hours at least.

“Hey,” he murmured, folding up the paper he'd been staring at and shoving it back in his bedside drawer.

“Hey,” Eddie returned, leaning against the door frame. “It's your turn to help prep dinner....I was wondering, if you wanna switch, I'd be okay with that.”

“Yes! Yes please!” Richie was quick to answer.

Eddie laughed, “You don't even know what my job was.”

“Doesn't matter!” Richie exclaimed, clearly elated by the proposition. “Whatever it is, I'll do it!” He slid off his bed and walked over to where Eddie was standing. Gripping both of his cheeks, he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to his forehead before turning to walk down the hallway. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he turned back towards Eddie.

“The dishes,” he answered, seeming to know exactly what Richie was about to ask, “My job was the dishes, you dork.”

Richie pretended not to hear the nickname. It brought a small grin to his face as he headed downstairs.

“C'mon Richie,” Mrs. Hanscom called as he passed by the kitchen, “Lets get started.”

“Oh, me and Eddie switched,” he replied, internally grateful for said switch. At least until Mrs. Hanscom shook her head.

“Nope,” she said simply, “Wash up.”

Richie turned back, seeing Eddie shrug and mouth the word 'sorry' to him. Begrudgingly, he shuffled into the kitchen and washed his hands as Mrs. Hanscom started pulling ingredients from the fridge.

“Richie, I know you must feel--”

“Don't,” Richie angrily shut the water off and spun around to face her, lips pulled into a scowl. “Don't pretend to know anything about me.”

“You're right. I don't know much about you at all. Only what your case worker told me,” She sighed softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But that doesn't really tell me anything about **you.** ”

He was surprised by her answer. In no way did he expect her to agree with him, when all he was accustom to told him to expect a fight. A weird thought told him he'd prefer the latter; he knew how to handle it and, in a screwed up way, made him feel at home.

“What more do you need to know?” he mumbled, attempting to focus all his attention on the knife slicing through the tomato beneath his fingers.

“Well surely you believe there's more to you than what you've been through,” she insisted lightly. At least they were back to back and Richie didn't have to worry about seven pairs of eyes bearing into him.

Richie shrugged, “Doesn't feel like it lately.”

“Why's that?”

“For starters, I'm here...in a house for fucked up kids,” he began bitterly, “Kind of a daily reminder of how fucked up I am.”

“Why do you refer to yourself like that? Are you ashamed of your experiences?”

Richie slammed the knife down, both hands pressed firmly against the edge of the counter. He leaned all his weight on them, feeling his chest tighten. “Why do you care?” he snapped.

“Because I don't want you to feel like that Richie,” she answered genuinely, not even faltering from where she was prepping dinner. “Because whether you believe it or not, I don't want your traumas to define you. You're so much more than that and I hope you'll let everyone see that soon.”

A light tremble found its way to his hands as did the tears in his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to prevent them from falling. To hear these words was one thing; to believe them was entirely different. Thankfully Mrs. Hanscom didn't press any further.

Those words swirled around his mind all throughout dinner, echoing over and over again as he aimlessly pushed around the food on his plate. A few bites had been taken, mostly due to watchful stares from Mrs. Hanscom and Eddie. But other than that, he had no interest whatsoever in eating the dinner he helped prep. In the background, he heard multiple conversations taking place but he couldn't bring himself to participate or even listen fully.

Instead, he slid his chair back and grabbed his plate, carrying it into the kitchen. As he rinsed it off, he found his hands lingering under the warm water as it grew hotter and hotter. There was a burn stinging his hands, the affected skin slowly turning red.

“What're you doing weirdo?” Beverly asked, playfully bumping her hip against his. He stumbled slightly, moving to the side to let her use the sink. Forcing a chuckle, he slowly dried his hands on the available dish towel before throwing it at Beverly.

“Why don't you mind your own business?”

Beverly chuckled herself, offering a casual shrug. “Suit yourself. I'll be minding my own business later tonight, after everyone's gone to bed,” she finished with an over exaggerated wink.

This time, his laugh was genuine, “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Please do,” she grinned, flashing him a set of finger guns as she backed out of the kitchen, nearly knocking Eddie over in the process.

“Watch it Marsh!”

“Awww,” she cooed, pinching his cheeks, “Isn't he just too cute when he's angry?”

“Bites me,” Eddie snarled, though the affectionate smile breaking out on his face told a different story.

Beverly was already out of the kitchen when she called back, “Don't tempt me Kaspbrak!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, dropping his plate in the sink. “Sorry the whole switching thing didn't work out.”

Richie leaned back against the counter to the right of the sink, “It's alright,” he shrugged, “Not your fault.”

Eddie glanced over at him from where he was scrubbing his plate, “I know you don't want to hear this but I'm gonna say it anyways. Mrs. Hanscom really does care.”

“You're right, I didn't want to hear that,” Richie retorted, kicking off from the counter and intending to walk out before Eddie's next words stopped him right in his tracks.

“Have you had any more panic attacks?”

“No,” he lied, voice coming out barely above a whisper. He was glad Eddie couldn't see his face because if his voice didn't give him away, his expression definitely would.

“Bullshit.”

Richie did the only thing he could. He walked away. Eddie was right. In was, in fact, bullshit. Richie agreed. It was all bullshit.

 

_Bullshit. We all got dealt a shit hand. We don't deserve any of this. 12:24am._

He sighed heavily at the bright red numbers flashing in the darkness of the room. Mike was sound asleep and had been snoring for the past couple hours. Richie hadn't slept yet, which wasn't unusual in the slightest. Of the over 30 nights he had spent there, the earliest he'd fallen asleep was roughly around 1:30am. So he still had a while to go.

He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing both hands over his face. Standing up, he walked over to the bathroom door and reached for the knob, only to see the bathroom light shining from beneath the door. He leaned back against the wall, deciding to wait it out. With his head resting back, he heard the mumbling of what sounded like two other voices on the other side. If there were two people in there, it was pretty clear what was transpiring and he had absolutely no time for it. He turned the knob and found the door unlocked, pushing the door open.

“I don't know what's going on in here but I really need to--”

The sight he was met with made him immediately lose his train of thought. His stomach dropped; it was definitely not what he expected.

Stan sat on the floor, his back against the sink with his legs laid flat in front of him. The sleeve of his shirt looked hastily pushed up to his elbow as his forearm rested limply on his thigh. Eddie knelt beside him, contents of a first aid kit dumped out on the floor. Scattered among them, Richie noticed, a single razor blade. The implication hit him sudden and **hard.** Eddie pulled away the washcloth he had pressed to Stan's wrist and tossed it to the ground in favor of a gauze packet. Richie's gaze remained fixed on the white towel now stained red.

“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, “Should I go get Mrs. Hanscom?” He turned around to go do so before Eddie's voice pulled him back. Somehow it was calm and authoritative at the same time.

“No,” he said, holding the gauze down as he grabbed the medical tape. “We're fine.”

Richie watched how Stan just blankly stared ahead, tears pouring down his cheeks. “This is not **fine,** Eddie,” he replied, vigorously shaking his head.

Eddie stared up at him, eyes unwavering as he spoke through clenched teeth, “Richie. It's **okay.** Please just get out of here.”

Richie swallowed the lump in his throat, hand flying up to cover his mouth as he released a shaky breath. _Not okay. Bullshit._ Richie stumbled back, startled by the sound of Mike's voice cutting through his deafening thoughts. “What's going on?” he asked, an almost desperate tone to his voice as he threw his covers off and flew towards the bathroom. As Mike's face came into the light radiating from the bathroom, his expression read nothing but devastation. He pushed past Richie and immediately fell to the ground in front of Stan.

“Mike,” Stan whimpered, his eyes finally faltering from their focus on the wall in front of him. They found Mike's face with ease.

“I'm here,” Mike said gently, reaching up to cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the tears, which were still pouring down them.

“I'm sorry Mike,” Stan sobbed, his own hands finding their way to rest against Mike's wrists. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no, no baby. Don't apologize,” he assured the curly haired boy. He leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead, brushing back a few stray curls. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Richie's hands flew up to curl in his hair as one line repeated itself over and over in his head.

_I'm sorry for doing this to you, Richie._ He tried to shake it away, but couldn't, no matter how hard he tried.

He took an unconscious step back, and then another. Before he knew it, he was running out of the room and flying down the stairs. The tension in his chest ease only the slightest when he peeked out the kitchen window and saw Beverly sitting on the edge of the deck. She looked over her shoulder as he yanked the sliding glass door open. He stood there, mouth hung open, tears in his eyes.

“Woah,” she mumbled, quickly scrambling over to him and guiding him to sit down. She crouched down in front of him and rested a concerned hand on his thigh, “What's going on Rich?”

“You said if I ever wanted to smoke something stronger...” he trailed off with a teary chuckle.

She nodded knowingly, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead, “I'll be right back.”

When she returned, she draped a thick blanket over his shoulders and tucked a joint between his lips. His shaky hands rested over hers as she leaned down to light it for him. He inhaled for as long as his lungs would allow, holding it in before letting it go with a quivering breath.

“Thanks,” he whispered, holding it between his fingers to extend it to Beverly, who politely shook her head. “C'mon, don't make a guy smoke alone.”

She smiled and reached out to grab the joint, taking a hit before passing it back. Best of all, she left it at that. They silently passed it back and forth, both of them now tucked under the blanket. She did not question the tears trickling down his cheeks or the tremors present in his fingers as he held the joint between them. She didn't insistently press him for answers he didn't want to give, let alone think about. She did the best thing she possibly could. She was just there.

 

Richie had no clue how long they stayed outside. It was long enough to finish the joint, long enough for them both to succumb to the cold despite the big blanket wrapped around them. Beverly pressed a kiss to his temple and stood, “I think we should head inside.”

“Yeah,” Richie agreed slowly, rising to his feet as well. “Thanks Bev,” he whispered before pulling her into a tight hug. He felt her arms wrap firmly around his waist and they did not release their hold until he began to pull away.

“Anytime Richie,” she said sincerely, a hand reaching up to caress his cheek. “Try to get some sleep okay?”

He nodded and watched as she headed inside. After a minute of looking up at the sky, he did the same. As he walked up the stairs, he felt a familiar heaviness in his limbs and it made him feel remotely relaxed. With everything that had piled up, total relaxation was out of the question. But at least now, his mind was no longer racing and he could breathe again.

A hint of sadness reignited in him when his eyes fell upon the light of the bathroom still illuminating their shared room. He silently peeked inside and saw Mike sitting on the floor, his back pressed up against the wall. Stan laid beside him, curled up with his head resting on Mike's thigh. One of Mike's hands rested on Stan's hip, while the other was loosely combing through his hair. His gaze was fixed on the other boy, who was sound asleep.

Richie wanted to smile due to the sweet intimacy of the moment he just witnessed but given the circumstances that brought them here, he found it hard. Instead he walked over to Mike's bed and grabbed the blanket he'd tossed on the ground. Returning to the bathroom, he gently draped the blanket over Stan's sleeping form.

Mike looked up, offering a small smile. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Richie nodded in return, swearing he saw tears still in Mike's eyes. He knew the feeling, all to well. As he climbed back into bed, still able to see the scene in the bathroom, he just hoped things did not end the same way they did for him. He knew what that felt like and he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of self-harm and suicide. Proceed with caution.

“ _A little to the left. No, no, no._ _ **My**_ _left.”_

“ _Would you like to come do it yourself?”_

“ _That's perfect! Now c'mon, let’s do this!”_

_Richie shook his head, though he wore the fondest smile as he joined his sister on his bed. They had set up her phone on his desk and move it so it stood right in front of them. He crossed his legs under himself and pulled his guitar into his lap._

“ _Remind me again why we're recording this?” he asked, fingers giving the strings a few test strums._

“ _Ummm...so that someday we'll be famous,” she replied matter-of-factly, “Then we'll be able to get out of this hell hole.”_

_Richie nodded and offered a small smile, “Ready?”_

“ _More than.”_

_Richie shook away the implications of those words and counted to three aloud before beginning to strum a soft melody. Shortly after, Sydney joined him, singing the words to match._

“ _ **All I have is one last chance**_

_**I won’t turn my back on you** _

_**Take my hand, drag me down** _

_**If you fall then I will too** _

_**And I can't save what's left of you.”** _

_Richie smiled to himself as they both sang, adding some soft harmonies to accompany hers. He had to admit, they sounded pretty damn good._

“ _ **Say something new**_

_**I have nothing left** _

_**I can't face the dark without you** _

_**There's nothing left to lose** _

_**The fighting never ends** _

_**I can't face the dark without you.”** _

_He glanced over at his sister. Her eyes were closed, head nodding along to the music while her fingers drummed against her thighs. She was in her element and it'd been a while since he'd seen her so happy. He only wished she could always be like this. She deserved to be. Happy and carefree._

_A slam brought both of them to a halt. They shared a brief look and slumped off the bed. A loud obnoxious voice sounded through the apartment. They both cringed at the addition of a second voice, this one male. There was no intelligible words, merely sounds and gibberish._

“ _You think they're drunk or high?” Richie pondered aloud, grabbing his guitar and walking it over the closet._

“ _Ohhh, I'm sorry,” Sydney continued, voice resembling that of a game show host. “The answer is actually the hidden third option of_ _ **both**_ _!”_

_Richie chuckled bitterly, stashing his guitar on the shelf in his closet._

“ _Why do you keep your guitar in there?”_

_Richie scoffed, “So it doesn't get pawned for drug money.”_

“ _Fair enough.”_  
  


_12:30am._ After a fitful couple hours of trying to sleep, Richie found walking downstairs He planned to see if Bev was out back. They'd developed a habit of smoking together at least a few times a week. Before he could confirm her presence, he was distracted as he passed by the living room. The soft glow from the TV illuminated the otherwise dark room.

Eddie sat on the sat, feet tucked under his knees. He wore a pair of baggy sweats and a t-shirt, which hung just above his belly button. His heart fluttered in his chest for two reasons; first of all, Eddie looked extremely cute and secondly, though dark, Richie could see what looked like a scar on the right, lower part of his exposed stomach. He didn't have much time to process his observation since Eddie's attention was drawn over to him.

“Hey,” he said with a sleepy smile. “Wanna join me?”

“Sure,” he replied, almost making it to the couch before Eddie's hand flew up and pointed to a nearby chair.

“Before you sit down,” he called out quickly, “Can you grab that blanket?”

Richie chuckled softly, grabbing said blanket and tossing it to him. It landed on his head, most of it falling to drape over his body. “Perfect,” he retorted sarcastically.

Richie pulled the blanket down for him, letting it pool in his lap. He licked his lips as Eddie's face was revealed, a lot closer than he anticipated.

“Sit down,” Eddie requested, patting the space beside him. When Richie took the spot, he lifted the blanket and then draped it over his lap so they were both under it. Richie enjoyed the way Eddie's knee rested on his thigh. It was a simple, but intimate touch.

“So what brings you down here?” Richie asked, softer than he’d meant to.

Eddie shrugged casually, “Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd come down and watch some TV.”

“Friends? Really?” Richie asked incredulously. He wasn't necessarily judging the other's taste in television shows but he just had a hard time believing this was something Eddie was into.

“What? It's a good show!” Eddie defended, smacking his arm playfully, “It's easy to watch. You don't have to pay too much attention and it's funny. Perfect for late nights.”

“If you say so,” Richie chuckled, sticking his tongue out as Eddie shot him a glare. “Why aren't you upstairs shacking up with someone else then?”

“Okay, I haven't 'shacked up' with anyone in a long time,” Eddie retorted, emphasizing the phrase with air quotes.

“Ohhh,” Richie cringed, nodding in mock realization, “Is that why you're so cranky all the time?”

“Ha. Ha.”

They both fell silent, attention turning to the show playing on the TV. For a few minutes, they just watched before Eddie finally spoke up again, breaking the silence.

“Stan's been sleeping with Mike for the past few weeks.”

Richie nodded, “Yeah, I know. We share a room.” Ever since that night, the two of them hadn't spent a night apart. Every night after Mrs. Hanscom checked in on them, Stan would walk through the bathroom that connected their two rooms and slide into bed with the other boy. He strode quietly every time and, had Richie been asleep any of those times, he wouldn't have woken up. Some nights, Richie would mind his own business and continue to pretend he was in fact asleep. Other nights, he peeked over where the other two laid. Stan usually pressed up against Mike's side, who had his arm tightly wrapped around the other. Sometimes they would spoon. Richie tried not to make a habit of watching the two because he didn't want to be such a creep, but it was truly endearing how well the two fit together.

“Right,” Eddie murmured softly, his eyes briefly caught on the blanket in his lap. Sucking in a breath, he looked up at Richie. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You technically just did,” Richie replied, flashing him a cheesy grin.

“I'm being serious,” Eddie insisted, his voice soft, but firm. When Richie nodded, he continued, “Why did you react like that? When you walk in on it...”

Richie immediately felt his skin grow hot. The answer to this question was not only complicated, but also something he did **not** want to get into. Richie definitely no longer classified them all as strangers, but he still held no desire to express his deepest and darkest secrets to the others, or anyone at all. Especially not to Eddie. Despite the amount of compassion he'd witness from the other, voluntarily making himself feel weak in front him was the last thing he wanted to do. As much as he wanted to deny it, he simply couldn't; he had a crush on Eddie. Not only was he cute, but he cared about everyone close to him and took zero shit from anyone. Richie knew it was stupid and it certainly made him feel like he was in middle school all over again but he just couldn't help it.

He quickly tried to cover up with a half-hearted chuckle, “I mean, I'm not heartless Eddie.”

“That's not what I mean,” Eddie replied in all seriousness, his gaze remaining fixed on him.

Richie tried not to get distracted by Eddie's soft skin or the way his teeth subconsciously chewed at his bottom lip. He also tried to ignore the subject they were apparently discussing now. Richie didn't want to lie to him, especially with the crush he was harboring for him. But he also didn't have any interest in telling him the truth. So he did the best he could and concocted a statement which answered his question without divulging the intimate details.

“Someone I knew from school killed herself last year,” he said, barely able to choke out the words. Eddie could probably tell it was a lie, but if he could, he didn't let on.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. A moment of silence passed between them again as a new episode began to play. Eddie's head fell to rest on Richie's shoulder. “This is my favorite episode. Will you stay and watch it with me?”

Richie found it impossible to say no to such a request and the weight of Eddie's head resting against him made his heart flutter. “Yeah, sure,” he whispered breathlessly. After a while of stillness, Richie worked up enough courage to press a kiss to Eddie's hair. The action resulted in a sleepy sigh, followed by slow, steady breathing. Richie peeked down at the boy sleeping on his shoulder, making sure he didn't make any sudden movement. He gently let his head fall to rest on Eddie's and let his eyes slip shut.  
  


Richie woke hours later, jostled by the sound of footsteps shuffling along the floor. He squinted, eyes struggling to see through the darkness of the night. When they finally adjusted enough, he saw Bill standing in the middle of the living room, facing away from them. Over the TV that was still going, he could hear a soft mumbling. He groaned as he struggled to sit up, Eddie was now pressed against his side, leaning the entirety of his weight against him. He felt Eddie stir, but otherwise showed no indication of waking.

“Bill?” Richie asked inquisitively.

“Georgie?” Bill spoke gently, voice resembling a small child.

Richie frowned in confusion. Did he really just hear Bill's voice? He couldn't recall a time when he actually heard it before. “No it's Richie. What's going on?”

“Georgie, I miss you,” Bill whispered, the tears evident in his voice. “Things haven't been the same since you left.”

Richie opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of Eddie's sleepy voice, “Bill, wake up,” he called, not even opening his eyes. After a minute, Bill turned around to face them, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“C'mere,” Eddie insisted. His eyes were still shut and he was still pressed against Richie's side. He held his arm open as Bill walked over to the couch. He sat down beside Eddie, dropping his head down to rest on his thigh. Eddie rested his arm around Bill, his fingers idly trailing up and down his forearm.

Richie remained still, his gaze peeking over at the sight beside him. It wasn't long before both of them were fast asleep, Bill clearly comforted by Eddie's touch. In the short amount of time they'd known each other, he could definitely relate. Rather than dwell on it, Richie simply rested his head back on Eddie's and, shortly after, joined the other two in slumber.  
  


In the morning, he woke before Eddie. Bill must have woken up before both of them, as he was no longer by Eddie's side. A smile graced his lips, as Eddie appeared almost angelic, bathed in the bright sunlight breaking through the windows. His fingers seemed to take on a life of their own as they gently raked through his soft, brown hair. The gesture earned him a sleepy sound of approval, which in turn only made his smile grow.

“Mmm, morning,” Eddie murmured softly, throwing his arms up over his head in a long stretch. When he did, his already short shirt rode up even further. Richie swallowed hard, eyes drawn to the newly exposed smooth skin.

“What's this?” Richie inquired, boldly brushing his thumb over the scar on Eddie's side. He'd be lying if he said he didn't notice the way Eddie shivered under his touch.

“A scar,” he answered sarcastically, only continuing when Richie stuck out his tongue in response, “Got my appendix removed a couple years ago.”

“Yikes, must've been scary,” Richie responded.

Eddie shrugged, “Not really.”

How in the world someone could be so fearless was beyond him. He'd never met anyone quite like him before, that's for sure. “We better get ready for school,” Eddie said, patting Richie's knee then using the hold to push himself up. “At least it's Friday!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in fake enthusiasm as he walked towards the stairs. Richie's gaze followed him. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. This boy was going to be the death of him.

 

Even it being Friday wasn't enough to pull Richie through the day. With each hour that passed, he grew more and more anxious, completely unable to shake the feeling. His mind took him all over the place; the group therapy he'd have to endure the next day, the sound of his sister's voice ringing in his ears, the way it felt to have Eddie's warm body curled up against him. Basically his mind went everywhere except the schoolwork he should be focusing on.

He noticed, gradually, it became harder to breathe; a familiar tremble tickled the tips of his fingers. He desperately wished he could ignore the feeling creeping up on him. **No. Not here.**

Despite the protests of the teacher behind him, Richie flew out of the classroom and ran down the hallway. He ducked into the first unoccupied room he found. Only one thought hit him as he glanced around the room. **Of fucking course.**

Momentarily his train of thought was distracted by the pure irony of the situation. All he could do was laugh. He slumped over to one of the many chairs, flopping down in it. He hung his head in his hands, attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. The closer he felt to complete helplessness, the more he thought **fuck it.**

His shaky hands grasped the neck of the closest guitar, pulling it into his lap. The familiarity washing over him brought him a slight amount of comfort. As his fingers strummed the chords, he tried to recall the last time he played. The melody filling the room gave him his answer.

“ **Say something new**

**I have nothing left**

**I can't face the dark without you**

**There's nothing left to lose**

**The fighting never ends**

**I can't face the dark without you”**

He closed his eyes and, in no time, he was back there again. Sydney sat beside him, her fingers tapping out a rhythm against her leg, one Richie could not hear. He looked over at her. Her lips were moving, but producing no sounds. His eyes were drawn down to her wrists; the contrast of red pooling against the white fabric made his stomach churn. All he could hear was his own scream, deafening even in his own mind. But it felt so incredibly real that he couldn't even hear the melodies he was creating.

The whole song played out, practically unheard to his own ears.

“Wow,” Richie heard from the doorway. He peeked up and saw Eddie walking over to him, taking the chair next to him. “That was beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Richie whispered, the imaginary ringing beginning to fade and allow him to hear again. He set the guitar back on its stand and laced his fingers together, rubbing his thumb along the palm of the opposite hand. Richie wished he didn't know exactly where he picked up this habit. But an image flashed in his mind, hands moving in the same motion, frantically trying to wash the blood from his hands. The way the water ran red below his hands reminded him. He quickly dropped his hands, letting them run anxiously along the fabric of his jeans.

“I didn't know you played,” Eddie commented, “You don't have a guitar, do you?”

“Uhhh, no,” Richie murmured, reluctant to divulge the real reasoning for his lack of guitar. “It, uh, got smashed in the move.”

“That's too bad,” Eddie said, placing his hand on Richie's knee, “Are you okay?”

The words posed an innocent question. He knew the truth. He knew the answer he wanted to give. His whole time there he'd only fed them the answers he wanted, his words spinning a half truth, which kept them all at arms length. Just the way he wanted. So he surprised himself when his eyes met Eddie's and, with no hesitation, told him the truth.

“No.”

“And that's okay,” Eddie spoke gently, taking Richie's quivering hands in his own, “You know that right?”

“I'm just tired of being the same broken kid,” Richie whispered, staring down at their hands. The warm touch stilled some of the trembling in his hands. It was the most truth he'd told in a long time and it truly terrified him.

“We're all broken, Richie.”

In Eddie's eyes, he saw pain and understanding. He also saw patience and compassion. A silent moment passed between them. “But things get better. Give it time.” Eddie ducked his head down to press the softest, chastest kiss to his lips. “If you ever want to talk or anything, I'm here.”

Richie didn't even have time to process his confusion as Eddie stood and made his way towards the door. Right before he hit the door, Eddie spun around.

“Mrs. Hanscom wanted me to tell you,” he began, unknowingly making Richie cringe with those words. “She's taking us all to the carnival tomorrow.”

“The carnival?” Richie asked incredulously.

Eddie chuckled, sarcastically adding, “Yeah, because apparently we're all eight years old.”

Richie laughed along with him, still hung up on the tingle Eddie's lips left on his. It felt nothing like any kiss he experienced before. There was a different motive behind it. It didn't elicit a wild uncontrollable race of his heart. All he felt was calm, at ease. “It'll be fun,” Eddie said genuinely, flashing a toothy grin. An unfamiliar feeling washed over him. _Home._ But not the home he knew; the home he always wanted.

  
  


Richie couldn't say he was entirely thrilled to be in the middle of the annual Derry carnival. The lights were blinding, all the sounds deafening. The token carnival music that seemed to be playing every step of the way, sounded just slightly the wrong tone. Richie couldn't put his finger on it but it didn't sound right. Plus in the short amount of time they'd been walking around, at least four clowns crossed their path and Richie did not care to see any more.

But his attention was captivated by something else. Eddie walked alongside him, clad in a white t-shirt underneath a pair of denim overalls. They were cuffed at the bottom and joined by a pair of red converse. Richie found it hard not to stare. Eddie was indescribably cute right now; the way he rocked the overalls he wore, his carefree smile and the little bounce in his step as they walked along. Beverly had ran off with Ben and Bill, saying something about checking out the fun house. Stan and Mike were a few paces ahead of them, fingers tightly laced together. Eventually Stan pulled them off to the side to a booth with prizes to be won.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, throwing his arm in front of Richie's face to excitedly point towards the long queue to their left. “Lets ride that!”

Richie looked over at the roller coaster the line belonged to and let out a chuckle, “Are you sure you're even tall enough?”

Eddie scoffed in offense and shoved his hands against Richie's upper arm. There wasn't a whole lot of strength behind it and, had Richie not felt weak in the knees already, he wouldn't have stumbled the way he did. “Jerk!” he shouted, though it quickly faded into an infectious laugh. Eddie's hand slipped into his own and tugged him in the direction of the line.

Much to Richie's surprise and contentment, their fingers stayed locked together the whole time they waited. He could feel a pulse of Eddie's hand squeezing his and, when he looked over, he noticed the other boy tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

Richie smiled fondly, “Nervous?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted breathlessly, looking up at Richie in a way that made his heart flutter. His soft brown eyes bore into him, yet left him vulnerable at the same time.

“Yeah, me too,” Richie mumbled, though his words seemed to hold a completely different connotation.

As the roller coaster took them towards the sky, Richie couldn't decide which made him more nervous; the way Eddie gripped his hand like his life depended on it or the inevitable fall they would soon face. The drop brought about a sense of weightlessness, as did Eddie's thrilled shout which faded to the most melodic laugh when the ride pulled into the gate. Richie hadn't a clue how good it would feel, the brief moment where all his burden washed away. Much like the top of the coaster, he felt on top of the world. It was a feeling he'd never experienced before, but he wished it could last forever. But also like the ride, after such a great height came a devastating fall.

But the second Eddie looked over at him and said, “Let’s go again,” Richie immediately found the courage to agree. He wanted to fall again.

So they rode again and then moved on to a multitude of other rides. All the while, Eddie's hand still held in his own. Even on the tamest rides and the trips in between them, he didn't let go. And Richie wasn't about to. He would never dream of it.

“I'm gonna throw up,” Eddie whined, his other arm clutching his stomach.

Richie snorted in laughter, having spent the last fifteen minutes watching Eddie shovel a variety of carnival food into his mouth. The whole time, Richie was torn between two thoughts: how in the world could Eddie fit that much food inside his body and how could he look so damn cute doing it?

“Well yeah,” Richie chuckled, stating as if it was obvious, “You ate half the carnival.”

“Huh...” Eddie trailed off thoughtfully, then glanced up at Richie as he continued, “Maybe that's why my breath smells so funny.....Get it?” he lightly jabbed his elbow to Richie's side, “Half the carnival, half the clowns. Clowns are funny!”

Richie shook his head, offering the softest laugh, “You can eat them all. Clowns are creepy as fuck.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, eyes squinting suspiciously as he peered over at Richie. A teasing smile spread over his lips, “Are you afraid of clowns, Richie?”

“I don't feel the need to answer that,” Richie retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “What? You don't have any irrational fears?”

Eddie's smile faded all too quickly, “I do,” he answered somberly, “Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up in the hospital and this has all been some kind of crazy, drug induced dream.”

“That makes mine sound kinda stupid,” Richie mumbled quietly. Sure, he had plenty of other fears but he enjoyed pretending that wasn't the case. At least for the time being.

Things stayed quiet for a moment before Eddie let out a roaring laugh, “Gotcha! You shoulda seen your face! I was just kidding!” Richie had a sinking suspicion those words were a lie, but he had no right to press Eddie for any kind of information. He wasn't exactly forthcoming himself.

“Wanna go on the Ferris wheel?” Eddie quipped, eyes reflecting gold in the sun. For a moment, Richie was breathless, staring into Eddie’s eyes like they were the last thing he’d ever see. And somehow, in that moment, Richie wouldn't mind if that came true.

“Only if you don't barf on me,” Richie teased, embracing a moment of boldness and slinging his arm over Eddie's shoulders.

“No promises.”

A big smile broke over his face as he felt Eddie lace their fingers together. “I'll take my chances.”  
  


Sunday was quickly coming to an end, no matter how desperately Richie wished otherwise. For the first time in a long time, he felt okay. The previous day had been the best he'd had since he didn't even know when. His mind wasn't bogged down with sadness as usual, but rather there was an unfamiliar clarity. Richie chalked it up to one thing and one thing only: Eddie. Something about him rendered his body completely at ease. He felt as calm as the twilight settling around them.

After dinner, everyone went outside to enjoy the mild evening. To no one's surprise, Mike sat in the grass, Stan's head resting in his lap. He plucked small dandelions from the ground and tucked them into his blonde curls. Bev, Ben, and Mrs. Hanscom all chatted idly on the deck. Eddie stretched out on the hammock, both hands tucked behind his head. Since it was his turn to do the dishes, Richie was the last to join everyone outside. His first instinct led him over to the hammock. But then he noticed Bill laid out on his stomach, with a sketchbook in front of him, hand scribbling across the page. Intrigued, he went over and crouched down beside him. On the paper was a beautiful sketch of two people, one resembling him, the other with similar features but much younger.

“Wow, that's amazing,” he whispered breathlessly, eyes fixed on the image that seemed perfect, yet it was a mess of eraser marks. Right around the smiles both of them wore the paper looked weak, like one more swipe of the erase would rip a hole in it.

Bill wore a small smile as he slowly flipped through the other pages. They were filled with an endless array of beautifully sketched people, some appeared to be a family; there was at least one of each person there, though Eddie had multiple pages.

But one picture stood out. He frowned as his hand darted out to prevent him from turning to the next page. When he scanned over the sketch, his heart immediately began to race as did the tremors to his fingers. His mind felt hazy and he could barely maintain his balance as he stood, fingers gripping the sketchbook as tightly as he could.

“Who the fuck is this?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Drawn out on the paper was a young, dark haired girl with sharp features that mirrored his own. The more he stared at it, the more he saw it. Her. **Sydney.**

“Who the fuck is this?” he repeated, his voice much louder this time, attracting the attention of those around them. Bill peered up at him with a look of pure confusion. “Where did you see this?! Where did you sketch this from?” Richie's hands shook violently as he shoved the sketchbook into Bill's view. He couldn't control the way his volume kept increasing. He could hardly control the words coming from his mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem? Why won't you answer me?” he yelled, ripping the page out and chucking the book itself behind him. By this time, Mrs. Hanscom and Eddie rushed over, while everyone else watched on, expressions somewhere between confusion and concern.

“Richie, knock it off,” Eddie said gently. He grabbed at Richie's upper arm, trying to pull him away from the scene but his grip was immediately and forcefully shrugged off.

“Not until you answer me! Where the fuck did you see her?” When he was met with no answer, he laughed and shook his head. The small part of his mind still aware of the situation wondered why he laughed in this moment but the tears rolling down his cheeks told a different story. His chest heaved drastically as he fought to breathe; his fingers desperately tore at the paper, an action which should've been easy but due to the way they tremble and his dwindling strength, it was a struggle.

“Richie, you need to stop,” Mrs. Hanscom pressed firmly, placing herself between the two of them. Bill looked absolutely terrified, but he still remained silent. “You need to sit down and take a breath.”

A wave of dizziness washed over him as his legs wobbled under the pressure to support him. He watched Eddie move over to stand beside Bill, pulling him into his arms. A part of him was grateful as his vision began to blur, unable to see the look of disappointment presumably etched across Eddie's face. There were more words on the tip of his tongue. He didn't get the chance, however, as everything went dark and his head smacked against the ground.

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to drop a comment; it makes me super happy to read them! The song used is Without You by Breaking Benjamin. I highly recommend the acoustic version. And if anyone wants to check me out on tumblr, whenyourereddie is my name on there.


	5. Chapter 5

Beep. Beep. _Richie._

A strong warmth surrounded him as he studied the darkness behind his closed eyes. There was an awful stench stinging his nostrils; he knew its origins without any doubt and the thought made his stomach twist into knots. For some time, he remained still, refusing to open his eyes. If he could prolong his return to reality for any amount of time, he would do exactly that.

Beep. Beep. _Richie._

He took a shaky breath at the soft voice ringing in his ears. He was too tired to do this. His entire body felt weak, completely drained of anything vaguely resembling strength. His mind felt the exact same. He didn't know how much longer he could do it, how much longer he could live like he had been. If that could really be called living at all...

Beep. Beep. _Richie._

The softest touch brushed along his forehead and the curiosity forced his eyes open. He squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, his vision struggling to adjust. For a moment, he thought he'd gone crazy or maybe he'd died and gone to heaven. Because standing beside his hospital bed, he swore he saw--

“Sydney?”

He never expected to see her like this, outside of the messed up memories they once shared. He certainly didn't expect to _hear_ her.

“Hey Richie.”

Her voice sounded much different than it had before; now it was lighter, almost as if there were no burdens or sorrows weighing it down any longer. Her fingers trailed along his forehead, pushing a few unruly curls back. It felt so incredibly real that it brought tears to his eyes.

“What're you doing here?” he whispered in disbelief. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't real. Sydney wasn't truly there. He was alone. But it was nice to pretend that wasn't the case.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“No you can't because you're not real,” Richie groaned, fingers flying up to rub over his eyes. Even with them pressed shut, the gentle touch persisted. It trailed down to wipe away the tears now trickling down his cheeks.

“It's okay Richie,” her soft voice spoke, “It's okay to pretend it is.”

“I can't,” he whispered, struggling to choke back the sob rumbling in his chest. “It hurts too much.”

“The pain means you're alive.”

“Then maybe I don't wanna be,” Richie muttered. He opened his eyes and looked up, unsure whether he wished to see her there or just an empty hospital room. His vision blurred with tears but he could still see her clear as day.

“Please don't say that. You've got your whole life ahead of you.”

“So did you,” Richie whimpered.

Sydney simply shrugged, lightly caressing his cheek, “I just wasn't as strong as you.”

Richie vigorously shook his head.

“You are,” Sydney stated, as if it was a matter of fact, “And I know you're gonna make it to LA someday. Just like we always planned.”

His eyes slipped shut once again and suddenly the warmth around him vanished, leaving him cold and empty.

“This isn't real,” he kept repeating, “This has to be a fucking—”

“Hallucination,” a deep voice sounded from across the room. “It's quite common for patients to hallucinate when their brain isn't getting what it needs to function properly.” There was a pause.“Ahh, Mr. Tozier, you're awake.”

He looked over to see an older man, wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He dropped his head back against the rigid pillow and shut his eyes, letting out a groan, “Pass.”

 

“Richie,” Mrs. Hanscom's voice sounded from across the room. _Of course._ “This is Dr. Anderson. He's here to help you.”

Richie scoffed, “That's ridiculous. I don't _need help_ ,” he declared, throwing up mocking air quotes. “I'm fine. Just passed out is all.” He braced his hands against the bed, trying to pull himself into a sitting position but found himself entirely too weak to do so. His arms shook merely at the effort alone.

“You haven't been eating.”

This wasn't new information to him; he was well aware of how little he was eating. He tried to avoid it completely when he could, eating just enough to get by. Apparently, he miscalculated.

“Mr. Tozier, a male of your age and height should ideally weigh no less than 144 pounds to be considered healthy,” the doctor paused, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “Seeing as you were unconscious when you were brought in, we haven't collected an exact weight. But it's not hard to see that you are dangerously underweight.”

“And like half of it's my dick.”

“Young man, this is not a joke!” Mrs. Hanscom snapped, using a tone Richie had never heard before, “If you keep this up, you will not have a choice in the matter.”

Richie cast his gaze down, fingers picking idly at a loose thread on the sheets across his lap. His chest felt tight with shame.

“We've set up appointments for you with the hospital psychiatrist and nutritionist. We need to evaluate why you're doing this and how we can help you get better. Physically and mentally.”

Richie remained silent, finding it extremely difficult to sit and listen to everything wrong with him. He wanted to laugh, to make it all into some big joke because, at the end of the day, that was so much easier than actually dealing with it. Although, at the moment, it didn't seem like he had a say in the matter. And as the doctor went on and on, Richie couldn't concentrate on the words coming from his mouth. Eventually they all strung together, his mind refusing to distinguish any actual sentences being spoken. But he didn't care.

 

An odd mix of emotions hit him as he saw Eddie storming through the door. Recently the sight of him would bring a smile to his face and a flutter to his heart. But this time, it was dread and guilt. Clearly Eddie was pissed and it was all his fault. There wasn't a single part of him that could blame him; what he did was unacceptable and he knew it.

“Hey,” he murmured weakly.

Eddie stomped right over to his bedside, poking a rough finger to his chest, “Don't you _ever_ talk to Bill like that again!”

Richie winced, both from the rough touch and the harsh tone in Eddie's voice. Not that he didn't deserve both. A meek “okay” was all he could muster.

“You had absolutely no right to do that,” Eddie continued, making no effort to keep the anger in his voice hidden.

“I know,” Richie whispered in return. He could barely bring himself to look at Eddie, consumed by the guilt he felt towards his actions and knowing they upset him.

“I swear to God--” It seemed like more words were on the tip of his tongue, but nothing came of it as he trailed off, in realization of how truly bad Richie felt about the situation. His guilt must have been written all over his face. “Hey,” he said softly, placing his hand over Richie's, where it laid on the hospital bed.

Richie's heart skipped a beat, merely from the contact, “I know I fucked up, Eddie. Trust me. I feel like shit about it.”

“Well you should,” Eddie said bluntly, a gentle squeeze of his hand contradicting his words.

“I do,” Richie insisted, “And I wanna make it right.”

“As you should.”

Richie's gaze shifted up, bright blue eyes locking with soft brown eyes. There was an intense vulnerability behind his stare as he uttered four words he rarely strung together, “I need your help.”

“Okay,” Eddie agreed easily, wearing a fond smile. A brief moment of silence passed between them, only drowned out by the many sounds of hospital life bustling around them. After some time, Eddie took his head back from where it rested on his. For a moment, disappointment crept up on him until Eddie pushed against his arm, offering a quiet, “Scoot over.”

It took some effort, as his muscles strained with every small move he made. But eventually, he was able to shift over, just enough to allow Eddie to climb into bed with him. His heart soared when he settled against his side. Richie shifted uncomfortably, Eddie's shoulder pressed against his ribs. This movement prompted Eddie to do the same.

“You're bony,” he said with a small pout.

Richie let out a bark of laughter, the type that was completely involuntary from deep in his chest. After the hell he endured that morning, being emotionally poked and prodded, it was just _funny_ to have another person comment on his shortcomings. He was sick of hearing about it, but something in the way Eddie rested his head in the crook between his neck and shoulder made Richie forget all about it.

“So I've heard,” he said, every last breath leaving him when he felt Eddie's warm breath against his neck, “I'm uh..I'm working on it.”

“How long do you have to stay?”

“Overnight,” Richie answered, turning his head to bury his nose in Eddie's soft hair. He gently inhaled and let the subtle scent of coconut rush over him, immediately dissolving his worry away. “They wanna keep me for 'observation', which sounds like a riot of a time.”

Eddie chuckled, “Throw some vodka in there and you got yourself a party.”

“I know you came to yell at me. But I'm really glad you came,” Richie confessed after a quiet moment.

Eddie peered up at him, lips curling up in a soft smile, “Whoever it was that Bill drew....”

Richie froze. _Sydney._ The last thing he wanted to do was pour salt into fresh wounds. But as time flew by, he wondered if they would ever close.

If Eddie noticed, he had the decency to ignore it as he continued, “He didn't mean to upset you. He has a habit of looking through people's phones for things to draw.” Eddie accompanied these words with a nonchalant shrug, “I guess we're all just used to it.”

“I know,” Richie said quietly, voice threatening to crack with emotion held back so tightly it was bound to snap sooner rather than later. “I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. Things have just been....a little rough lately.”

“And no one can blame you for that; it's not your fault. You can't control what happened to you. But you can control how you choose to deal with it,” Eddie held his gaze once again, adding an overwhelming intimacy to the heartfelt words coming from his lips, “Someday Richie, you're gonna have to let someone in. Whether it's now, or later in life, you're gonna learn that it gets pretty damn lonely trying to handle everything yourself. Especially when you don't have to.”

Eddie leaned up and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead before sliding out bed, making Richie instantly miss the warmth of his body and his presence. “Get some rest,” Eddie told him, “If you ever wanna talk, you know where to find me.”

 

“Things are going to be different around here, Richie.”

After the longest silence, nearly half the trip form the hospital to the house, Mrs. Hanscom broke it with her stern, but caring voice. “Something needs to change. You can't keep doing this to yourself.”

“Okay,” he mumbled in response from where his head rested against the glass of the passenger window. _Numb._ He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He wasn't _anything._

No more was said until they walked through the front door, Mrs. Hanscom once again being the first to speak. “Okay, so tonight with dinner, we can start you on the supplements the doctor recommended...”

Richie didn't stop to listen to the rest of what she had to say. He spared a glance towards the living room, where everyone stared back with a mix of pity and confusion. Except Bill, who completely avoided his gaze all together.

He trudged up the stairs, ignoring the calls trying to beckon him back. When he got to his room, he didn't even bother kicking off his shoes before collapsing onto his bed, his back facing the closed door. His eyes stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Even the sound of the door cracking open wasn't enough to break his concentration, or lack there of as his eyes remained still.

He felt the mattress dip with weight and a gentle hand on his arm. His eyes squeezed shut as a warmth washed over him, not completely unlike the one he felt when he first woke up in the hospital.

“Richie.” Her voice echoed in his head. _Not again._ “Richie.” This time, the voice faded to another familiar voice. Richie didn't respond. He couldn't. What would he even say? But, as she had proved before, the best thing about Bev was simply her presence. It wasn't desperate search for a solution to problems he did not even want to admit. It was comfort, when he needed it most, without having to ask. And whether or not he wanted to admit it, that was exactly what he needed.

Her weight shifted and, for a moment, Richie was devastated by her departure. But instead, he felt her settle behind him, her body pressed against his back. Her arm draped over his side, her legs entangled between his.

Something in him snapped. The dam that once held everything back just _broke_ and he couldn't control what came rushing out.

Before he could stop it, a deep sob ripped through his chest and tears sprung to his eyes. Bev's arm tightened around him, holding him close as the only sound between them was the involuntary sob after sob that Richie could no longer hold back. Heavy footsteps sounded from behind them and over to the other side of the room. Richie's eyes fluttered open as the footsteps stopped in front of him. He looked up with tear filled eyes to see Mike standing beside the bed, blanket in hand. He draped it over the two of them, crouching down to pull it up to his chin. He offered a small smile as he stood, moving towards the door and pulling it shut as he left. It was a small action, but a huge gesture.

Everyone bone in his body felt weak, like any strength left vanished as the tears poured down his cheeks. The last thing he remembered as the graze of lips pressed against the back of his neck, before his body finally succumbed to the sleep trying to pull him under. For the first time in a while, he fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

 

Hours later, he woke; a noticeable amount of tension free from his body. He rubbed a tired hand over his face as he sat up, swinging hi legs over the side of the bed. It must've been a deep sleep as Bev was no longer laying behind him and he slept right through her getting up. He glanced over his shoulder, the slightest smile gracing his lips at the sight of Eddie peeking in.

“Hey,” he said as he walked in, fingers grasping a neatly wrapped present. He placed it on the nightstand and sat down beside Richie.

“Thanks for getting that for me,” he muttered, the sound slightly muffled behind the hands rubbing over his face. “I owe you one.”

“Don't mention it,” Eddie replied and reached over to rub a hand over his thigh, “Dinner's gonna be ready soon.”

Richie nodded slowly.

“Please come down with me. It'll be so much more pleasant than if Mrs. Hanscom comes up here.”

Richie let out a genuine laugh. Eddie was right; he much preferred the first option. He took Eddie's outstretched hand as he stood up, grabbing the present from his nightstand before they headed downstairs, hand in hand. He noticed Bill sitting on the couch, sketchbook resting on his crisscrossed legs. Stan sat on the floor in front of him, holding still as Bill sketched him.

Richie gave Eddie's hand an appreciative squeeze, moving over to sit down next to Bill. He pretended not to notice the way he flinched away from him. Suddenly the words he previously rehearsed seemed to disappear the moment he went to express them. Instead he extended the neatly wrapped present over to Bill, who's eyes stared down at it. He didn't make any move to grab it, even when Richie pressed it further towards him.

“Take it,” he pleaded gently, setting it down on the couch between them. “Please. It's a peace offering.”

Bill's fingers trailed curiously over the wrapping paper. After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled it into his lap and tore it open. Richie watched intently as Bill's face lit up. Upon his request, Eddie had picked out a beautiful, leather bound sketchbook, Bill's name engraved in the bottom right corner. It was perfect.

“I'm sorry for what I said,” Richie muttered softly, circling his thumb nervously over his left palm, “And how I reacted. I just...” he paused, his eyes darting around the room. Stan had now moved over to where Mike sat and the two were chatting idly while Stan sat on his lap. Ben was in the dining room,setting the table while Bev and Mrs. Hanscom were in the kitchen.

“Her name's Sydney,” he went on quietly. He tried his best to keep his voice even, but he couldn't help the way it shook with his words, once he never spoke aloud before. “My little sister. She, uh...she killed herself.”

Bill remained silent, but his face fell as he flipped through the pages of his sketchbook. Finally he came to a page with a beautifully drawn sketch, depicting a happy family. _Mom, Dad, Bill, Georgie._

Richie chest tightened as realization crept up on him. “You lost your brother.”

Bill met his gaze with a dejected expression, wordlessly confirming his suspicion.

“I'm so sorry, Bill. No one should have to go through that,” Richie whispered, his thoughts trailing off as Eddie's words rang in his mind. _It's gonna get pretty damn lonely trying to handle everything yourself. Especially when you don't have to._

 

After dinner, Richie spent a couple hours working on homework, noting how quiet the house was. Everyone was probably out back, enjoying the mild day it turned out to be. He didn't mind. It was kind of nice to have some time to himself, with no distractions. With his hospital stay, he missed a couple days of class and now he had a bunch of school work to catch up on.

After a while though, he shoved his books away, unable to focus any more of his time on the work. He decided a shower was in order and that nothing would feel better than hot water washing over him. Unfortunately, when he opened the closet door to grab a towel, he found the shelf where they usually resided empty. He sighed softly and headed downstairs, figuring there were probably some in the dryer.

When he rounded the corner to pass by the living room, he was met with an endearing sight. All across the couch were piles of neatly folded laundry, multiple baskets strewn about the floor. Eddie danced around the room, a pair of big headphones secured over his ears. As his head nodded along to whatever music he listened to, he folded the towel he was holding onto it. He slapped it down on a pile of towels and grabbed another piece of laundry from one of the baskets.

A fond smile etched onto Richie's face as he leaned against the doorframe. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, squinting as he examined the jacket Eddie wore. It looked suspiciously familiar; if Richie didn't know better, he would've sworn it was _his_ jacket. Light wash denim with a gray hood, check. Small hole over the right shoulder, check. And when Eddie spun around, he saw the multiple patches sewn into the fabric. A warm feeling flooded his chest.

It took a moment for Eddie to notice his presence, pushing his headphones off to rest around his neck as his cheeks dusted a light pink. “H-hey,” he said softly, standing still in the middle of the living room.

“Hey,” Richie returned, kicking off the doorframe and moving over to where Eddie stood.

“You know, I was just doing laundry and this just looked so comfy...” Eddie trailed off, his hands already at the sleeves in an effort to take the jacket off.

But once Richie approached him, he simply gripped the front of the jacket, further adjusting it on Eddie's smaller frame. It was slightly too big for him, but somehow that made it an even more endearing sight, “Well is it?” he asked breathlessly. He stood right in front of Eddie, their chests almost pressed together from their close proximity.

Eddie nodded silently as he gaze drifted between Richie's bright blue eyes and his soft lips.

“It looks good on you,” Richie whispered, reaching up with both of his hands to grip Eddie's cheeks and bring their lips together in a gentle kiss. He reveled in the way Eddie's fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt as a shiver ran down his spine at the brush of his knuckles against his sides.

For as long as he could remember, his mind always felt hazy. Whether it was due to his poor health or his troubled mental state, the exact reason was hard to pin down. But in that moment, with Eddie's lips against his, he felt _grounded._ There was no haze, no auto pilot carrying him through. His mind was completely clear and, for the first time in so long, Richie felt completely and irrevocably _alive._

Caught up in the intoxicating sensation, he hoped would never end, he slowly broke the kiss to rest their foreheads together. Their lips remained close, enough to where the shaky breath Richie exhaled ghosted over Eddie's slightly parted lips.

“Everyone's out back,” Eddie whispered, their lips brushing together at these words, causing a surge of desire that brought them together for another, more desperate kiss. When they parted, Richie wanted to add a “duh” to Eddie's previous statement. Why Eddie had mentioned it, he had no clue until Eddie took his hand and led him upstairs to his bedroom.

For a split second, he worried karma might find him in the form of Mike walking in on the two of them, seeing as Richie did just that his first day there. But such thought quickly left his mind when Eddie planted his hand on his chest and, with minimal effort, pushed him onto his bed.

“What the fuck?” he murmured in confusion, the sound of crinkled paper stilling both of their actions. He sat up enough to grab the page underneath him, turning it over to a sight which drained all the color from his face. On the page was a beautifully drawn, colored picture of _Sydney._ Her name was written flawless cursive along the bottom right corner. Even with only one glance, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes from the familiar comfort the sight brought him. The drawing rendered his all time favorite picture of his sister; the day it was taken they had skipped school and rode the bus into the city, for no particular reason. Their only goal was to get away from their every day lives, even if only for a little while.

Behind her was a breathtaking sunset. Richie found himself captivated by just how effortlessly Bill managed to blend the mixture of red, yellow and the soft hint of purple. He slipped his eyes shut, hoping it would prevent the tears from falling. A deep ache rumbled through his chest, sending a tell tale tremor to the very tips of his fingers. In his mind, he could perfectly see Sydney sitting with her back against the bus window, sunset painted out behind her. Her voice rang clearly in his mind.

“ _C'mon, take a picture! This is so going on my Instagram!”_

She stuck out her tongue and threw up a peace sign, one eye peeking open to confirm the picture being taken. _“You dork,”_ Richie had chuckled, with the utmost affection in his tone as he snapped the picture.

As his eyes fluttered open, he noticed one discrepancy between the picture and the one in his memory. Despite it depicting his favorite memory of his sister, the picture was always troubling for him to look at due to the way her shirt bunched around her elbow, exposing a wrist covered in scars. He found it difficult to look at the picture and remember that moment in time without thinking about what followed just a few months later. But on the paper gripped between his finger, the same exposed wrist was completely free of any and all scars.

“Who is that?” Eddie asked him gently, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on his thigh, idly stroking his thumb over the fabric of Richie's jeans. “Sydney?”

“My sister,” Richie whispered in reply, though his words were barely audible, even with Eddie sitting right beside him. He couldn't help the sob to escape his lips as he continued to stare at the beautiful picture, despite the tears blurring his vision. “God Eddie, I miss her so much.”

Eddie tilted Richie's chin up and thumbed away the tears rolling down his cheeks. He stared into his deep blue eyes and was saddened by how much sorrow they held. Slowly leaning in, Eddie pressed a tender kiss to his lips. He carefully took the picture from Richie and placed in on his nightstand before encouraging Richie to lay down on the bed with him. The two of them laid out on their sides, facing each other. Richie's head was tucked under Eddie's chin, his face buried in his chest. Eddie wrapped both his arms around Richie and rubbed a slow, steady hand over his back. Every few minutes, or after a particularly violent sob, Eddie pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Richie knew it would always hurt like hell when he thought about his sister and the past he was running from. But he also knew that, with people like Eddie in his life, maybe he could learn to live again.

 

 


End file.
